As we grow older, Christmas memories abound:
I remember Christmas morning, when I was a kid growing up on a farm, with a stack of presents under the tree that couldn't be opened until the morning milking was done. Of receiving new socks and mittens that grandmother had knitted, and a new pair of skates, the type that clamped onto the bottom of my shoes and were tightened with a key.
I remember walking a mile with my dad to a neighbor's with a small present and a freshly baked pie, because we knew that his wife had passed away and his children had grown and moved to the city, and he was there alone on Christmas day.
The Old Timer says: "Listen to the laughter of children, and remember when you were a kid."